The Lingerings
by thewanderingoutsider
Summary: A selection of poems I wrote as I wandered the expanse of the pony fandom. It might be a babble of nothing, and technically its just the remnants of an abandoned project, but perhaps you might be interested? #writer's drabble.
1. Dwindling Grace

**~Dwindling Grace~**

Merciful. All's more the pity.

Caress, as the senses go to their agonizing withdrawal. The slow drawn solace of the mind's distress…

For that _I_ never felt more unashamed in my life. Though, the feelings prickle.

My ears resound with the blaring percussion of existence.

My lips branded with their timeworn customs. The patterns of habitual routines, eons spun and centuries woven, drool from my tongue, and fashion the sinew of my being.

The marrow and the flesh; fastening together what we _must_ honour and abhor! Can that vindicate our odious fixture?

I half.

You whole.

Once you filled my hollowed consciousness?

Traitor.

Breaking bones and shredding tissue; they feel _nothing_!

You _must know_ the delight in toying with a broken thing.

What satisfaction can compare, when you gaze on their flayed limbs, torn, lashed, so oozing with their insufferable life? Their welting, bruised skin, so black they can't even see. Utterly twisted and screwed against themselves to the point that even a pace is impossible.

And, the greatest delight of all, their own feeble betrayals are completely and utterly _unavoidable_.

Because you _have been_ the loathed creature I described; the creature _despised_ by all, _and you still are_!

The hateful creature, remaining whole.

If I knew thus, all my vehemence would dissipate without a trace. Like the unfinished soul, cut down before Scarred Age had a chance to lay its hand, and was sent hurtling, groaning, deep into the shades.

And I do.

To my pathetic, self-biased awareness, _I do_.

I am afraid. I am uncontrollably terrified.

When my finite existence has finally uncoiled, you will be there, intolerably whole, despite it all.

Intolerable of me.

Waiting for the sue for wistful clemency.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **__I started work on these poems almost a year ago but I thought I had lost all of my work due to a freak accident, thankfully that is not the case and I will be uploading them in due time after a bit of polishing up. This piece was inspired by one grimdark tumblr blog in particular, Miss Diane, and it was based on Pinkamena's relationship with The Master. (This also coincidentally happened to be the only piece I saved separately and when I lost the file (though it was an older copy) I sent this poem to the mod not wanting it to go to waste, but nothing happened...so I'm just going to upload it here and see if anyone is interested)._


	2. They say the Mind would like to fancy

**~They say the Mind would like to fancy~**

The exhilaration. Praise the power, while the Night is young. The Night is always young.

Thou art loved, former Mare in the Moon! Say the Night is yours, but its passage is _mine_ and _mine_ alone!

Say the Night dies viciously as the Dawn and the Sun rises, but in truth it only slumbers. It forever rises for another infinite tomorrow! For nothing can slay the furor of the Night!

Bolt, skitter, leap and deftly step.

Above, in and out of things and all that tiptoes in-between!

But not below in their seething masses, not tonight.

They shuffle, mumble and mutter. Seeing only the crudeness in their lives. Closing their vein-punctured eyes, only to waken themselves so that they may recede into bitter pointlessness.

Reason, reason, reason. You are only said so often by the ones who can't seem to understand you. Paradox, paradox and impossibility. You're not _meant_ to exist and yet you do, bamboozling their squishy brains and troubling their innards!

The true nature of reality can never be tamed by the pretentious mortals in denial of even their own nature!

Laugh, and let us laugh at them. Let us sing with incredible thrill!

At our presence they judder, they shake and groan. And soon they shy away shamed, and shamed they should be.

They fear. In want of me they curse _my_ name, but mere presence compels them to humiliated silence. And for insult to their premeditated injuries, they know not that they do! _Glorious irony_!

So sleep. Unaware, tire yourselves away. It is the only thing you like to _choose_ to do; it is abhorrent but safe to you all.

I enjoy only the affections of those who rejoice, delighting at the cry of my soundless voice! Ones that look with curious, blameless awe at my soaring grounded sight!

Still.

The strange abrupt greeting interrupting my gleeful prowl crept upon us both in its usual cruel and endearing way.

To lead us both down the eyelets of our personal infinities.

Strange, lost and forgotten as we both are.

Still…

_Stay_, in unison with _our_ fancies…

* * *

_**Author's Notes**__: A quick, silly thing inspired by Luna in general and her role as a guardian of dreams, particularly thinking of the little foals and fillies she might be protecting from vicious nightmares. I recall I was listening to Nightwish's __**Storytime**__ when I wrote this, maybe that might give a clue to the mood?_


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